


where death and life flushed green

by theleonhearted



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012), The Avengers - All Fandoms
Genre: Comfort, Drabble, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Science, Science Boyfriends, Science Bros
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-31
Updated: 2012-07-31
Packaged: 2017-11-11 02:34:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/473531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theleonhearted/pseuds/theleonhearted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce Banner is a multitude of things, in personality and in being. Sometimes, there is a dual nature to humanity. Sometimes, there is more to men than their monsters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	where death and life flushed green

**Author's Note:**

> A quick drabble for Science Bros, prompted by an ask on my tumblr (prompt was "green").

Bruce Banner is a multitude of things, in personality and in being.

He is a scientist. Brilliant in mind, gifted with extraordinary knowledge and practical skill, unequaled in research in his various fields. He absorbs information as a stalk absorbs its sunlight, processes it, converts it into data he can use. Work with.

He is a practitioner. Traveled, experienced, he has stained his hands in the life-blood of the ailing and the bereft, the hopeless and the helpless. He has tended to the poorest of the earth, eaten from the hollow baskets of the most destitute nations. All in attempt to drive the beast, to charge the depths, to seek peace in the darkest and most abject corners of the earth.

He is a loner. In truth and without recourse, whether learned or by nature: the oldest philosophical argument in existence. He speaks softly, in rustled tones; he casts his gaze below the eyes, to the floor; he stumbles over words at times, tools out of practice, out of use. Rusty, disheveled.

He is a miracle, a phenomenon, saved not once but twice by an abominable creation that shares his body, his psyche and him, himself; every grind of the teeth, every flare, every outburst manifest in one creature. A vengeful being, a wall of fury. And yet, and yet, he is green. Green, the color of life.

_I got low._

To straddle the serrated edge of life -- it is a low that rivals the deepest pits of the earth, the harshest drops. To face death is a grave matter -- the cessation of the mind’s functionality, the flurry of the heart, the fragility of the human form -- but to bring oneself willingly to that point of no return, with all knowledge, all awareness of the act. To hold the gun in hand.

The metal against his lips.

 _I didn’t see an end_.

And suddenly, Tony can see it, as clearly as if he was witness to the moment. Sees the unforgiving holster, the white-knuckled hold. The taut line of his mouth, pencil-thin; the swift brush of lashes against skin as he closes his eyes.

The green.

“Tony?” The voice is hushed, surprised; and when Tony raises his gaze, he’s there in the lab, wrapped in the stark white-and-silver enclosure of what can only be described as home.

“Bruce,” he huffs, exhausted, the pain of what might have as well been a mile-sprint tearing the tendons of his legs, or so it feels; and because for the first time in what may be forever he can think of nothing intelligent to say, he adds, “hey.”

The confusion is apparent in Bruce’s eyes, the concern; and in that moment Tony realizes just how much the man’s eyes are like windows: viewpoints into the other’s soul, into his mind, into the core of man and beast and self of which the scientist is so thoroughly fearful.

And then, somehow, there are no words. The room, the building, the entire world crumbles and fades before the tension of their silence, of every sentence ever shared between them and every motion, every gesture, every quip -- each little piece of a greater mosaic, composing this most extraordinary friendship between two rogue geniuses each blessed with his own terrible privilege.

“This may be a bad idea.”

It's the last thing he says before Tony kisses him.


End file.
